Black Horse Dispatch 18 - Into the Void

Continued from Dispatch 17 - The Road to Riften.

After breakfast, I stop by at Mistveil Keep to shop at the rather scatterbrained court mage - but that hasn't kept her from accumulating an astoundingly large selection of spell tomes. I pick some conjuration spells - both for summoning a magical raincoat and a variety of spells for summoning spirit wolves. When fighting dragons, it helps to fight in a target-rich environment, and as such beings cannot be truly killed, they should provide a good distraction.

And I immediately have the opportunity to test this hypothesis, as two dragons attack us in close succession as we leave Riften along the southwestern road along Lake Honrich. And indeed, as the spirit wolves race after the dragons, the dragons focus their attacks on these ghostly creatures, allowing us plenty of time to pepper them with arrows. More surprising is an attack by a trio of vampires in broad daylight - but still, the spirit wolf is useful here, as it cannot contract sanguinare vampiris and I don't want my minions to thirst more for my blood than they already do.

After slaying a frostbite spider (not a particularly difficult task), another dragon appears - this one simply circling nearby. I get the suspicion that they hunt us - perhaps at the instigation of the Black One. We wait in an old, abandoned lakeside house until it flies away. I notice a badly damaged book in front of the long-cold fireplace - the title "Spirit of the Deep" is barely visible. Curious, I flip it open...

...and the world shifts around me. Damn. I hate it when this happens - especially when I am perfectly sober.

I appear in another version of the ruined house - floating in some kind of void, along with other detritus. As I take a step, a strange man of indeterminate race appears in front of me, and as I stare into his pitch black eyes, I realize that I am in the presence of a daedric lord.

This is the third time I have found myself in this position, and if you, gentle reader, should ever find yourself in such a situation, I recommend being both very polite and very, very cautious. No doubt he would soon explain himself as much as he cared to for my translocation into this realm of Oblivion (for where else could I be?).

"You are wondering why I brought you here. Your life has taken a turn, has it not?

You should have died at Helgen, Dragons have returned to Skyrim, and you will play a pivotal role in the days to come."

All this is said in a soft, almost monotonous voice, which only makes it more worrying.

"For this, I have chosen you and drawn you into the Void. I am the Outsider, come find me."

And with that, he vanishes. None of the daedric lords I am familiar with, but that is not exactly comforting.

Well, if he want to play hide and seek, then I am not in a position to tell him no. However, as I take a few steps I hear Vilja's inane chatter just behind me - and I discover to my horror that she has somehow been stuck into the wall behind the fireplace. Even more disturbing is that her disposition seems to be entirely unaffected, and she continues to chatter like she always does. Is this an illusion, or is she really here in this abominable state - and if so, has she been driven mad or is her mind clouded? And will she be restored when this "Outsider" becomes bored of us?

I cannot help her, so I press on. In any case, there doesn't seem to be much hiding involved on the part of the Outsider, for as come to the end of a bridge of sorts which hangs into the void, he simply reappears again in front of me.

"There are forces in the world and beyond the grave. Great forces that you mortals call magic, and now these forces serve your will. Use this newfound power, my gift to you."

And with this, he vanishes again. But suddenly, there is new knowledge in my mind. Knowledge of, if I just reach out with my hands to a distant point, I can...

I transform into lightning, and the lightning transforms into me on the other side of the chasm.

I experiment a bit with this new power. It is not exactly a spell, though I feel it slightly drain my reserves of magical power. I need to see the point I am "blinking" towards, and there seems to be a limit to my range.

Suddenly I hear the sound of a weapon being drawn. Somehow Vilja has managed to get out of the fireplace and across the chasm, standing right behind me. Surprised, I blink again - but each time she reappears behind me, looking warily around without saying a word. This spooks me more than anyone else.

Then I see a table adorned with two candles and a skull, horns, banners, and... ribcages of some enormous creature? This seems to be an altar, of sorts. As I approach it and let my hands fall down, I hear Vilja saying behind me: "Guess I'm just being silly."

...I don't want to think about this right now. Instead, I approach the altar, which seems to throb in my mind somehow. As I touch it, the Outsider appears again and tells me:

"Seek the ancient runes bearing my mark in the lonely places of your world at the shrines raised in my name. These runes will grant you power beyond those of others. How you use what I have given you falls upon you, as it has to others before you.

And now I return you to your world, but know that I will be watching with great interest."

I return to Mundus, in the same cabin as before. Then I see to my horror that Vilja has somehow become stuck in the floor, with only the head and shoulders looking out.

"I think I need more sleep."

Horrified, I use Blink again, in the hopes that she will somehow follow me out as she has done in the Void, but this doesn't seem to help. Then I have no time to contemplate other solutions, as two dragons appear - who seem to be attacking a nearby orc stronghold. Flames are everywhere, and as the two beasts are finally slain, I discover that Vilja has made it out somehow - though she seems to be heavily wounded, though I cannot say whether it was getting out of the floor or the fight with the dragons that did the damage. Finally, she manages to stand up under her own power, though she looks pained.

I could kick myself. I should have seen behind her cheerful facade. What was she hiding behind that smile and that chatter? What horrible sights and experiences have shattered her sanity in the past, and what was she forced to revisit in the Void? I was looking for an assistant when I hired her, but now I fear I found a time bomb. Still, there is a story here, and I must follow it to the end.

To be continued. Read from the beginning!

Black Horse Dispatch 17 - The Road to Riften

Continued from Dispatch 16 - A Blade in the Dark.

With that, the Agent leaves to ponder how to best do some sniffing around the Thalmor Embassy. This will likely take some time, which leaves me to ponder what lead I should pursue next.

High Hrothgar, again, seems like the obvious choice. I've found the horn for the Greybeards, so hopefully they will now be willing to let me talk to their leader (presumed ancient and winged). Rather than heading towards the White River, I decide to take the scenic route through the Rift. That the climate there is supposed to be warmer than up here in the north admittedly played some part in my decision.

When we hit the main road from Kynesgrove, a red-brown dragon (also recently resurrected?) approaches from the south - but it only circles us a few times before flying off towards the Jerralls to the southeast. Was it sent by the Black One to keep an eye on us? Or did it see the slain dragon near the mound and decided it didn't want to challenge us right now? I can only hope that the word spreads among the dragons - "be careful around humans, for they might kill you and devour your soul." But to they even have a gossip vine?

Then I spot another dragon - this one with dark ochre scales - attacking a giant, while a third dragon attacks my group. But by now the group is fully versed in dragon slaughter, and it goes down quickly, while the other dragon has apparently lost its fight against the giant as well. And the soul-stealing process is triggered when I merely approach the corpse - quite obviously I don't have to be the one to slay it to make this work. We see a third dragon circle a small hill in the middle of the volcanic plateau to the west of the road, but decide not to approach. A small group of travelers were not able to avoid the dragons, however, as their corpses were scattered next to a burning wagon. Only their dog had survived, and it decides to follow us after Vilja feeds it.

A short time later we come across a lone Khajiit woman who claims that her caravan was attacked by bandits. She asks me to take her to Windhelm, where another Khajiit caravan is currently located, and I agree. However, shortly after I turn my back it turns out that she apparently has suicidal tendencies, as she mutters "you adventurers are so gullible" and draws her axe on me. As she is surrounded by my murderous minions (and Vilja), she is cut down before I can turn around again. I really need to teach them to leave more people alive so that I can question them.

As it turns out, she has a letter with her.

"Tanita,
Lajjan hopes this is a joke. If so, she is not laughing. She will not help you and your bandit friends sack the caravans, and if their paths cross, do not think she will spare you because Khajiit are friends.
Lajjan."

Well, if I come across this Lajjan person, I might get the full story from her - but for now, I have more pressing concerns.

It's a nice, sunny, noon and hardly anyone tries to kill me after that last dragon, apart from some pesky local wildlife, and while climbing the steep path up to the Rift is somewhat exhausting, the view is worth it. Why can't travel in Skyrim always be like this? I even meet a few pleasant people, such as an Argonian trader who sells me a warm travel cloak and a comfy backpack. Really, I don't know how I managed to store all my gear without it.

Alas, the tranquility ends at a small mining village named Shor's Stone, as another dragon approaches. This one hurls great balls of fire from the sky - a new trick, and it's a miracle the straw roofs of the village do not catch fire. Immediately afterwards we are attacked by bandits who seem to be too stupid to live - do you really want to attack the people who just attacked a dragon? Especially since the town guard is nearby?

Next up north is another fort, where there currently seems to be a three-way skirmish between more bandits, Stormcloaks, and Imperial soldiers. Two Imperials were the last ones standing (current score: 2:1 for the Stormcloaks).

I reach Riften, and one of the gate guards attempts to shake me down for a "Visitor's Tax" - but after I ask him if he wants to explain the purpose of this tax to the readers of the Black Horse Courier, he quickly backs down.

Inside, I overhear a conversation between to people, a huge warrior woman named Mjoll who apparently had a run-in with the local Thieves' Guild. Her companion, one Aerin, warns her that the Guild is backed by one Maven Black-Briar - a name I heard about back in Cyrodiil, and no in a good way - and opposing her could land one in jail, or worse.

After Aerin leaves, I talk to Mjoll and she informs me that the "rabble" of the Thieves' Guild is currently recruiting, and that I should be careful, and tells me about some of the members of the Black-Briar family - real charmers, by the sound of it. Apparently she retired from a life of high adventure after Aerin managed to rescue her from a nearby dwemer ruin, and now she has embarked on a mission to clean up this time. I wished her luck - she will likely need it.

I take a few steps further, and a shady character seizes me up suspiciously, and asks me if I came to Riften looking for trouble.

"What's it to you?"

"Don't say something you'll regret. Last thing the Black-Briars need is some loudmouth trying to meddle in their affairs."

"The Black-Briars?"

"The Black-Briars have Riften in their pockets and the Thieves' Guild watching their back, so keep your nose out of their business.

Me? I'm Maul. I watch the streets for 'em, If you need the dirt on anythin', I'm your guy... but it'll cost you."

He does end up giving me a few scraps of information for free:

- It turns out that Aventus Arentino, the boy in Windhelm attempting to contact the Black Brotherhood, used to live in the local orphanage but ran away. "Can't say I blame him."

- He also claims that Maven Black-Briar has ties to the Dark Brotherhood. Hmmm... given my own recent run-in with the Brotherhood, this may be worth investigating. Later...

Next I witness one of the local loan sharks, a woman named Sapphire, intimidate one of her victims, a Redguard stable worker who apparently had loaned money from her - only to have the shipment stolen, likely by someone working with Sapphire.

I follow Sapphire into the local pub to talk with her about this, but am momentarily distracted by a priest of Mara blaming the dragons on the constant drunkenness of the pub patrons.

...this is going to be a trend, isn't it.

I can't convince Sapphire to drop the debt, so I pay the 163 septims myself - I am flush with coins from Ustengrav and can afford it. As I go out to the stables, I see an orc with an axe drawn standing over another dead orc - but the gate guard is too jaded to intervene. An Argonian standing right next to them mutters: "All I want is a pair of boots. How hard can it be?" I quickly press on to give the worker the good news, who hands me a potion of invisibility out of gratitude (he said he feard he might need it to flee from Sapphire).

After a trip to the alchemist to brew some potions and sell the surplus, I head back to the pub in search of a room for the night - and there a member of the Thieves' Guild makes his expected recruitment pitch. He wants me to plant some fake evidence on a local merchant, but I remained noncommittal. He... kept not noticing that. I went to bed, and will attempt to avoid this guy for the time being - I don't want to linger here.


Continued in Dispatch 18 - Into the Void.

Black Horse Dispatch 16 - A Blade in the Dark

Continued from Dispatch 15 - Cloak and Dagger.

And with that, we race through the night - if there really is someone or something resurrecting dragons, we must get to Kynesgrove in time to witness it. It rains at the start, leaving me drenched, but that can't be helped.

Roughly at the halfway mark, we are attacked by a black-clad Argonian, but he proves no match for my companions. He carries a letter with him:

"As instructed, you are  to eliminate Araneus Venator by any means necessary. The Black Sacrament has been  performed - someone wants this poor fool dead.

We've already received payment for the contract. Failure is not an option.

- Astrid."

And now I feel much colder. I thought the Black Brotherhood had been wiped out 13 years ago, but apparently not. Who has set them on my trail? Not that there is a shortage of people wishing for my death, but who could afford them? A new and terrifying possibility springs unbidden to my mind...

And I want to make one thing clear to my readers: There is absolutely no proof that I am in any way related to the Septims, and just because I am apparently also a "Dragonborn" does not make me a scion of that line. Granted, I have no memories of my father and not many fond ones of my mother, but the protagonist of a story turning out to be the long-lost heir of a throne is only ever found in the worst kind of fiction. Trust me on this.

A short time later, a lone Dunmer woman attacks me. It... doesn't go well for her, and I avert my eyes from the scene of carnage created by my minions.

We reach Windhelm Hold, and it begins to snow. Fortunately, no Stormcloak patrols are in the area - presumably, they prefer to stay close to a warm, cozy fireplace, the bastards - not slowly freezing to death like me. As we reach the Windhelm stables, I can't go on - I build a makeshift fire right next to the horses (who are presumably as glad as I am to have a little warmth (though they don't show it). But even that is not enough, and I make the decision to head into Windhelm itself.

Inside the gates, I witness two of Ulfric's upstanding citizens bully a dunmer woman, accusing her and her fellow resident dark elves of being "Imperial Spies" and threatening to visit them next night. Fortunately, they leave without violence - perhaps the four strangers suddenly taking an interest in their actions might have something to do with it. As the woman explains, that's par for the course in Ulfric's city - not only the dunmer are harassed, but also the Argonians and anyone else who is a Nord.

I spend an hour at Candlehearth Hall warming myself up - but that needs to suffice.

Sundas, 24th of Last Seed.

As dawn breaks, I search for the Agent near Kynesgrove (who has declined to enter Windhelm) when I hear a draconic roar and an ancient voice shout:

"Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse!"

Damn! I am too late!

...

Damn. I'm not too late!

It's that big black bastard from Helgen! He is doing something at the burial mound - a pillar of light is emerging!

"Slen Tiid Vo!"

A skeletal dragon emerges from the mound. Its flesh begins to reform, and it speaks!

"Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?"

Alduin? The one from the tablets of the road to High Hrothgar? The one that was "shouted out of the world"?

The Black One replies:

"Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir.

Then it looks straight at me.

"Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi.

"You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah."

Normally I would say a witty retort at a time of this, but I really don't want to upset the enormous black, flying abomination further right now.

"Sahloknir, krii daar joorre."

With that, the Black One flies off. As the other dragon - now fully restored - jumps into the air and breathes lightning at us, the meaning is clear, however: "Kill those meddlesome mortals for me!"

But my minions and I have practice at this now, and the fight is short. The Agent, who had apparently hidden nearby to join in for the fight, is suitably impressed - and as promised, she finally parts with the real story.

"I'm one of the last members of the Blades. A very long time ago, the Blades were dragonslayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragonslayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them."

Interesting. I had read about the predecessors of the Penitus Oculatus - the favored servants of the Septim Dynasty - but this facet was new to me. And apparently, they have been searching for a new Dragonborn since the Septim dynasty ended, but never found one.

Until they found me. Which does not give me warm and fuzzy feelings - quite the contrary.

But the Agent doesn't know anything about why the dragons are returning, either - but is surprised to hear that the Black One was also the one who attacked Helgen. Which leads to the suspicion that the Thalmor were behind the attack, as the liberation of Ulfric and the prolongation of the Civil War plays right into their hands.

I am... less certain. Unlike the Agent, I remember Helgen (as much as I wish I didn't), and the Black One didn't strike me as a creature that could be controlled by anyone. I doubt it would have spared Ulfric if he had been in its path, and Stormcloacus Maximus likely only survived because he knew when to duck and cover.

But the Agent remains convinced that the Thalmor might hold some important clues, and considering how they have spread out their goons all over this promise, I can't really disagree. The Agent seems to have some ideas for infiltrating the Embassy, and promises to figure out a way, given some time - I should visit the Secret Hideout again once this time has passed.

"Oh, and what was your name, anyway? I never asked..."

"Araneus Venator."

The look on the Agent's face is quite extraordinary.

"Not the... writer for the Black Horse Courier?"

"Indeed I am, and I must say that this visit to Skyrim was rather more newsworthy than I could have guessed."

"Of all the people in Tamriel, why did it have to be you? Please, by the Divines, don't talk about..."

"Don't worry - I always protect my sources."


Continued in Dispatch 17 - The Road to Riften.

Black Horse Dispatches 15 - Cloak and Dagger

Continued from Dispatch 14 - The Lost Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.

Loredas, 23rd of Last Seed.

I shall not go into much detail about our trip to our contact. That doesn't mean that there wasn't anything of interest, but I did not wish to linger. Nevertheless:

- We saw two corpses of male Imperials, left with nothing more than a loincloth - floating upright above the ground, with outstretched arms.

- A Breton afflicted with a terrible disease who claims he only survived thanks to Peryite's protection. He was on his way back to High Rock, as he felt that their "shepherd has lost his way". and that he feels that "Peryite's wrath may consume those who remain with him".

- Another Imperial-Stormcloak skirmish (Win for the Stormcloaks, 2:0).

- Another encounter with M'aiq who didn't made any more sense than before.

- Rumors that a group vampire hunters called the "Dawnguard" are reforming.

No further dragons, though, for which I am grateful. Which helps me get to the contact without delays, and after we do the whole Cloak and Dagger routine, this person, whom I shall call the Agent, gets down to business.

"So you are the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you are looking for this" and hands me the horn.

"We need to talk. Follow me."

A short time later we reach a well-hidden secret room.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right."

"You're the one who took the horn?"

"Surprised? I guess I am getting pretty good at my harmless ----- act."

"What's with all the cloak and dagger?"

"You can't be too careful. Thalmor spies are everywhere."

"What do you want with me?"

"I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to be sure that it wasn't a Thalmor trap.

I am no your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I am actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out."

Well, then she came to the right person - I am always willing to listen. But she doesn't seem to recognize me.

"Go on. I'm listening."

"Like I said on my note, I've heard that you might be a Dragonborn. I'm part of a group that has been looking for you... well, someone like you, for a very long time.

If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to be sure I can trust you."

"Why did you take the horn from Ustengrav?"

"I knew that the Greybeards would send you there if they thought you were Dragonborn. They are nothing if not predictable. When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant."

I file this under very interesting for later reference. The Greybeards claimed that the last person to be summoned to High Hrothgar was Talos/Tiber Septim. Unless they regularly have to weed out false Dragonborn aspirants (was Ulfric one of them?) by sending them to Ustengrav, this "group" must have records that go back a very long time indeed.

"You said the Thalmor are after you?"

"Yes. We're very old enemies. And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the dragons returning. But that isn't important right now. What is important is that you might be Dragonborn."

"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?"

"We remember what most don't - that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul."

Gee, thanks for reminding me - I feel uncomfortable enough about this already, and I feel even less comfortable by deliberately seeking out dragons and serving as a man-shaped Soul Gem for them.

"Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?"

"Yes, that's how I first learned I was Dragonborn."

"Good. And you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough."

No, I don't like where this conversation is going at all...

"So what's the part you're not telling me?"

"Dragons aren't just coming back, they're coming back to life.

They weren't gone somewhere for all those years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it."

"Do you know how crazy this sounds?"

"Ha. A few years ago, I said almost the same thing to a colleague of mine. Well, it turned out he was right and I was wrong."

"What makes you think that dragons are coming back to life?"

"I know they are. I've visited their ancient burial mounds and fount them empty. And I've figured out where the next one will come back to life. We are going to go there, and you will kill that dragon. If we succeed, I will tell you anything you want to know."

"How did you figure all this out?"

"You should know. You got the map for me. The dragonstone you got for Farengar, remember?"

"Right. You were at Dragonsreach when I gave it to him."

"So you were paying attention. I arranged to have Farengar retrieve the dragonstone for me.

It's what I do. I make things happen from behind the scenes. After all, here you are."

"The dragonstone was some kind of map?"

"Yes. A map of ancient dragon burial sites. I've looked at which ones are now empty. The pattern is pretty clear."

"It seems to be spreading from the southeast, starting in the Jeralls near Riften. The one near Kynesgrove is next, if the pattern holds."

"So that's where we are headed?

"Correct. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it."

"Well... let's go find this dragon."


Continued in Dispatch 16 - A Blade in the Dark.

Black Horse Dispatches 14 - The Lost Horn of Jurgen Windcaller

Continued from Dispatch 13 - The Road to Ustengrav.

As we enter Ustengrav, we hear voices. I sneak closer, passing a dead bandit on the way, and discover black-robed figures - apparently necromancers, who have reanimated the corpses of bandits to excavate the area! They seem to go through a lot of corpses in their efforts, however.

For some reason, they rush off to a corridor to the left - unfortunately, I don't hear their reason for doing so, as Vrijas has to whisper some concerns about getting lost in this complex at precisely the wrong moment.

Here is a tip for the would-be skulkers in shadows among my readers: Whispers are a very distinct form of noise that carries a lot further than you'd expect. If you have to talk while within range of someone you want to observe unheard, lower your voice as much as possible but don't break into a whisper. And don't talk at all to someone who is listening to someone else unless it is critically important, such as: "Hey, Araneus - there is a Giant Frostbite Spider right behind you!" That's the kind of information you need in a hurry even when otherwise occupied. If you have any other concerns, write them into your diary.

Fortunately, the necromancers don't hear Vrija's not-at-all inconspicuous whisper, only murmuring that the zombies "can fend for themselves" for a moment. Fortunately, the remaining zombie is not, in fact, very capable of fending for itself, especially when it is hit by four arrows from behind. But there are no clues nearby on what the necromancers are searching for.

And as it turns out, the necromancers are quickly overwhelmed by a group of draugr, so it doesn't seem likely that further clues will be forthcoming.

Further into the depths there is a great cavern. Somehow there is light from the ceiling - enough light for large tree to rise from the depths. Eerie flames flicker in the distance, and walking dead seem to patrol the area - not draugr, but skeletons. Are there more necromancers in the area, or is this some long-forgotten necromancer's tomb which the would-be archaeologists had hoped to uncover?

Sneaking further down, I trigger a pressure plate and jets of flame engulf me from the floor. When I finally stop screaming, my murderous minions are less than sympathetic to me for overlooking the trap. Even Vrija mocks me: "Ouch, I'm so clumsy!"

Draugr patrol a feast hall. After we dispose of them, I discover that the food is suspiciously fresh. Bread, cheese, grilled leeks, jazaby berries - they seem at best a bit stale, but by no means crumbled to dust - as they should have been if they were as old as the draugr. Did some living humans get here recently and decide to have lunch? But if so, where are the bodies? Or are they under some enchantment of timelessness - the same that also causes the braziers and torches to burn forever? Or did the draugr emerge from Ustengrav and took the food from some passing merchant or remote settlement so that they could have this mockery of a feast?

We come to another room with the typical sarcophagi of the draugr - but there is also some oil spread around the floor from a spilled lamp. I prepare my flame cantrip, and approach - hurling the fire at the oil just as the draugr emerge. And at precisely that moment, Vrija chooses to race forward to attack the draugr, getting engulfed by the flames as well.

Ouch. I'm so clumsy.

Two portcullises operated by handles in the walls reveal a small enchanter's lab. But while I have collected a few soul gems - even ones with charges - in this dungeon, I feel no desire to dabble in it. Frankly, I always felt a revulsion towards enchantment - trapping some poor creature's very soul and then using that soul to power some magic doodad. While I've used enchanted items on occasion, I feel no need to add to their number. If we have to use them, then the enchanting should be left to true professionals, who know how to make the soul juice last, instead of some dabbler who will only waste the energy.

Frankly, I feel bad enough about consuming the souls of dragons - thinking (if apparently deeply malevolent) beings, even though I don't have a choice in this process and even though the dragons keep attacking me and people around me. Going out of my way to deliberately destroy the souls of other beings for my own advantage is a sin I do not care to indulge in.

We reach the skeletons, which go down easy enough under my bolts. As I explore the area, I find another dragon-adorned wall with ancient runes as in Bleak Falls Barrows, deep at the bottom of the cavern near a small pond. As I approach it, I hear the same chanting and some of the runes begin to shimmer. An ancient memory that is not my own stirs in my mind, and I understand...

FEIM!

and I fade from this world, if only for a short moment. My minions still see me, so I am not invisible, exactly. But Mundus, the material world, has less purchase on me - the ground still holds me, but everything feels... muted.

Time for some experimentation. There were some flames back near the skeletons, and indeed thanks to FEIM I pass through them without harm, exploring a balcony that would have been otherwise inaccessible. There are some further rooms which can only be reached via a series of platforms, but thanks to WULD I manage to jump between them. And a final test - I also learn that with FEIM I can fall from a great height without harm, although I suspect I need to be really careful how I time this, or else I might become tangible again just before I hit the ground. Still, jumping off a cliff in order to avoid pursuit is a neat trick, one I wish I had learned earlier.

We reach a series of three stones which glow as I pass them - and each time I pass one, a portcullis opens, but only for a very short time. Too short to pass through all of them, in fact. Strangely enough, the stones only glow when I pass them - none of the Murderous Minions trigger them. Another part of the Greybeards' test, no doubt - and keeping their tests in mind, I manage to reach the other side with WULD. To my relief, the three portcullises stay open after I reach the other side.

Large cobwebs cover the next area, which is never a good sign - but I am not so distracted that I don't spot the pressure-plates in the path ahead of us. There seems to be no way around them, so I shout FEIM and race ahead - but FEIM doesn't last long enough and I still experience some heat as I finally get out of the traps. Then a frostbite spider spits poison into my face.

Despite my blurry vision I pepper it with bolts, but then a much larger specimen drops from the ceiling. Fortunately, my minions have run after me - apparently, the pressure plates have quickly run out of fuel - and dispatch the creature with ease.

After that, we reach the end of the ruins - massive stylized dragon heads made out of stone emerge from pools of water as I approach a pedestal. But instead of the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, I only find a note:

"Dragonborn --

I need to speak to you. Urgently.

Rent the attic room at the ----- in -----, and I'll meet you.

-- A friend."

I smile. Suddenly, this has become a lot more interesting than a simple dungeon fetch quest.

And now I remember where I had heard the voice of Farengar's "reliable source" before.


To be continued. Read from the beginning!

Black Horse Dispatches 13 - The Road to Ustengrav

Continued from Dispatch 12 - Tears of a Clown.

When I last visited Skyrim all those years ago, giants only lived in the most remote regions, and I never saw any of them. Now they lair close to the main road heading north from Whiterun, among other places - plain for everyone to see. Fortunately, they do not seem overly aggressive, but the holds are apparently incapable of keeping them away from their trade routes.

Which is also true for a small army of bandits, which is engaged in a skirmish with a Stormcloak patrol - and winning. My murderous minions have no trouble mopping up the survivors, however. A short time later we come across further Stormcloaks who had just finished butchering a group of Impterial soldiers - one of whom is wearing the insignia of the Penitus Oculatus. What was one of their agents doing in this remote part of Skyrim? Double-checking on General Tullius' claims? There must be some serious doubts about the General if this is the case...

It is getting late and I am getting cold - the snow is deep this far north of Whiterun. I decide to ask for shelter at a nearby fort and follow a Stormcloak patrol into it - only to discover that I have stumbled into yet another running battle, as the Fort has been overrun by bandits! To avoid getting mixed up into this skirmish, we barricade ourselves in the local inn, the Stumbling Sabrecat - where we discover that the barkeep has already been slaughtered by the bandits. We put down his murderers, still at the scene, and I spend a few short moments heating up my chilling bones at the fireplace before we press on.

As we exit the fort, we immediately run into another group of bandits - who are, in turn, set upon by a dragon. At first, the monumental beast attacks some stragglers further away, and I focus on the immediate threats closer to me. A big mistake - after I lose sight of the creature for just a few moments, the beast lands almost on top of me, and the sheer impact from its landing throws me into the air like a ragdoll before I land in a distant snowdrift. Fortunately, my minions are quicker on he uptake and after I recover, our volleys of arrows and bolts manage to bring it down.

At the fork of the road, I decide not to press on to Dawnstar - while night has fallen, I still feel fairly warm and Dawnstar would be a huge detour to Ustengrav. Instead, we follow the west road into the direction of Morthal, passing some ancient ruins on the way. But even the night does not stop the skirmishes between the Stormcloaks and the legions - and here, the Stormcloaks are victorious. Their leader wears the same strange, skimpy pink armor which I have seen other women wear - has this armor some special significance?

I soon curse my overconfidence as my limbs begin to freeze, and we manage to find a still-operating mine before they fall off. But just as I start to huddle before the blazing fire, yet another dragon appears, this one dark red in hue. It circles and roars, giving the miners and soldiers time to shake in fear. But as I watch the skies and try to aim at it with my freezing fingers, more figures right out of a nightmare race out of the shadows - black, hound-like things with glowing eyes. Did they arrive with the dragon? No time to think about that - fortunately, my companions quickly slay those creatures.

Now it hovers and breathes... and it breathes frost. Why does it have to be frost? It picks up soldiers and miners one by one, grabbing them and letting them fall to their doom or swallowing them whole. Finally, we manage to bring it down, and I race into the mine supervisor's house to warm myself up - only to get kicked out again. Thus, I spend some time outside, with the miners - who have to sleep in flimsy tents in this cold - and stare at a dead, brutish black hound next to the fire. As I finally feel warm enough and get up, I stumble across another corpse, of a male Altmer... which begins to crumble to dust under my hands.

A vampire!

But I have scarcely time to ponder this discovery as another dragon appears (this one breathing fire, thank the Divines!). It makes the mistake of landing on the roof of the supervisor's house, a spot we can hit easily, and it slides off the roof and falls behind it as its flesh turns into energy and rushes into my soul.

I feel warm again.

From now on, we leave the road and head northwest into the half-frozen swampland surrounding Morthal. Fortunately, we do not disturb any creatures of the swamp on our way - apart from two bandits and a necromancer who lair at the entrance to our destination, and who are quickly dispatched.

And with that, the depths of Ustengrav open to us.


Continued in Dispatch 14 - The Lost Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.

Black Horse Dispatches 12 - Tears of a Clown

Continued from Dispatch 11 - Messages.

After an attack by a trio of Alik'r Warriors (sadly, their corpses did not have any clues on who in Hammerfell was annoyed at my reporting this time, but I have more pressing concerns at the moment anyway) we once again see the same dragon circling above the cliffs down to the White River. I am sure it saw us, but it merely watched us for a while before flying off. Was it reporting to anyone? To whom? Regardless, I felt it prudent not to linger.

Back on the main road, we encounter an elderly orc who felt that it was his time to seek a good, "glorious" death. Well, considering the proliferation of dragons in these parts, he might just get his wish - and hopefully, he will take one of them with him.

To avoid having to walk all the way back to Whiterun, we take a shortcut across Valtheim Towers - I assume that given the bridge spanning the river there must at least be a trail here. But if there ever was a trail, it had long since weathered away. Past a mountain pass we spott a strange, ancient monument on a plateau, similar to the inscriptions I saw in Bleak Falls Barrows - and on top of the monument crouches a pale, nearly translucent dragon. It hasn't spotted us yet, so we double back. South of the mountain was little better - an old ruin lies in our path which is patrolled by black-robed figures, and I think I saw a fire atronach in the distance.

We sneak past them, closer to the river - only to watch a skirmish that unfolded along our new path. Finally, the few survivors - Stormcloak soldiers, as it turned out - wander off. We examine the scene, and it appears that they had fought Imperial soldiers... and two Thalmor justicars. Why had the Thalmor been accompanying an Imperial unit? While the Empire had very reluctantly agreed to let Thalmor operate in the Empire, this did explicitly not extend to protecting them - only noninterference.

Something was very wrong here, but the dead yielded no further clues. However, I decide to relieve the Thalmor of their superior armor, since they were clearly not needing it any more.

Close by is an ancient mound, surrounded by stone monoliths. Unlike the Barrows, there is no entrance, no obvious tunnel complex, so maybe it is a solitary burial ground for a chieftain. It is  surrounded by a circle of roughly-hewn but regular stones, in a pattern that remins me of a seal. I will have to ask a scholar about their meaning.

Then my murderous minions decide it is time for lunch, and slaughter a wild horse that had made the mistake of wandering too closely to our path.

We finally reach the main road coming from Whiterun, and witness a man looking forlornly looking at a wagon with a broken wagon wheel. He dresses as a jester, and after introducing himself as "Cicero" explains that he was transporting the remains of his "poor, sweet mother" to a new location. He remains jocular, in that special clown way that has never been funny, but then I look into his eyes.

And see the gaze of a stone-cold killer, someone who will kill you given only the slightest provocation - or less, perhaps.

Plenty of people have tried to kill me over the years. Many were gloating during their attempts. The faces of others were twisted in fury. Still others saw killing me as a job - "just business". But almost all of them did so from understandable, human motives. The few exceptions still give me nightmares - people who saw killing me, or anyone else for that matter, as nothing more than swatting a fly. For them, there was no point in gloating, or feeling angry at me. That would have meant they saw me as a person they could relate to.

And that jester had that same gaze, a gaze I last saw during that terrible night in Bruma, 13 years ago.

I did not flinch. I did not broadcast the slightest awareness of his true nature. Instead I nodded, smiled, and expressed sympathy at his problem, and agreed to talk to a nearby farmer to help him with the broken wagon. The farmer has his own suspicions, but I manage to appeal to his basic decency and get him to help. This is by far the safest for him - "Cicero" seems invested in his jester personality, and as long as he has no reason to do something drastic, he will probably leave the farmer alone.

"You have? Oh, you have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more! Even more! My mother thanks you!"

I feel a chill racing down my spine at these last four words, and do not linger.

Continued in Dispatch 13: The Road to Ustengrav.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 11 - Messages

Continued from Dispatch 10 - The Way of Shouting.

Before we reached Ivarstead, we saw a lone figure running up the 7,000 steps to High Hrothgar.

It was Lydia - alive and well, though a bit bruised.

"But... how?"

"Well, first I landed in a massive snowdrift and had to dig myself out...

...and when I had done that, a huge pile of dragon bones landed on top of me."

"Uhm..."

"Which pissed me off even more, since it meant that I couldn't carve that overgrown lizard's heart out for knocking me off the mountain. So the next time we fight one, save a piece for me!"

"...sure. Glad to have you back."

"See? He does care!" said Vrija from behind me. I gave her the Glare of Death, but it did nothing.

I was shivering heavily as we entered Ivarstead, and that the snowfall had turned to rain did not help. I wanted nothing more than warm myself by the inn's fireplace, but just before we reached it two strangely-garbed figures wearing bizarre and identical masks approached me.

"You there. You're the one they call Dragonborn?" Morrowind accent. Curious...

"The Greybeards seem to think so..."

"Then it is too late. The lie has already taken roots of the hearts of men. So we shall expose the falseness in their hearts by tearing out yours, Deceiver!"

I swear, I could hear the capital letter in "Deceiver".

"When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness! None shall stand to oppose him!"

With that, they started to throw bolts of fire around - from close range. And while I was too busy freezing to death to put up much of a fight, they were still facing three of the deadliest warriors I've known (and Vrija). A short time later, and their corpses presented yet more evidence that fanaticism doesn't compensate for combat experience, let alone brains.

They were indeed dunmer. And one of them had a note with them. But wasn't there something else I was supposed to do? Oh, right - get inside and not freeze to death.

As I sat down so close to the central fire as to be practically on top of it, I pulled out the note.

"Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Araneus Venator before he reaches Solstheim.

Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased."

Well, well, well, now isn't that interesting. I only learned that I was a Dragonborn two days ago, when I absorbed that first dragon's soul near Whiterun. Which means that this "Miraak" either became supernaturally aware of this event and was capable of learning my own name at the same time, or that he knew that I was a Dragonborn before I did and kept careful track of my movement before I even reached Skyrim. And quite possibly both.

As the puddle of molten ice and snow forming around me began to cover more and more of the floor and earned me dirty looks from the barkeeper which I studiously ignored, I pondered the decision I had to make. Continue to Ustengrav to get that Horn for the Greybeards, or go to Solstheim and conduct an interview with this Miraak, quite possibly involving the Mace of Truth?

Ultimately, it was no contest. "Interview with a dragon" will beat "interview with some deranged sorcerer" any day of the week.

Fredas, 22nd of Last Seed, 4E 201.

According to what the Greybeards told me, Ustengrav was northeast of Morthal, where the swamps of the region meed the hills west of Dawnstar. Looking at my map, I could either return to Whiterun and follow the road north, or travel into the direction of Windhelm and then move up the river Yorgrim. The latter would lead me through Stormcloak-held territory - probably a bad idea at the moment, as I was still wearing the light imperial armor I had taken from Helgen. I needed to replace that at the earliest opportunity...

As I stepped out the inn, I encountered a courier who handed me a letter - allegedly from "Siddgeir, Jarl of Falkreath" who claimed that my "reputation" had attracted his notice, and invited me to visit him if I was "interested in becoming Thane of Falkreath". The letter also insinuated that "a choice parcel of land" would be available for purchase if my "services would prove useful" to him.

Well, far be it for me to speculate on the Jarl's character. But, well, back when High Rock was about a hundred thousand independent principalities, sending such letters to rich people in Cyrodiil who were greedy for some aristocratic title were a major industry. Just allow these merchants and shopkeepers to pay you large sums of money for some petty noble title, and you have enough funds for throwing the next sybaritic orgy or two, while the merchants could brag about their new title to all their friends while becoming the laughing stock of the actual Cyrodiilic aristocracy. Even after the Warp in the West,when there were only five kingdoms left, this scam didn't stop - the only thing that changed was that the kingdoms the letters were allegedly from were as fictional as the titles themselves.

Anyway, the Courier.

"Listen, this is important. Do you go to Cyrodiil? Maybe even to the Imperial City?"

"Mister, if I get paid enough, I will go anywhere in Tamriel."

"Good." I stuffed my notes of the last four days into a watertight bag, and pressed it into his hands.

"Take this to the offices of the Black Horse Courier, Market District, Imperial City on the fastest way possible. Give this to the hands of editor Dro'Bassa only. Do this, and he will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. Tell the furry bastard I said so."

"You said so? Well, who in Oblivion are you?"

"I am Araneus Venator, the best damn writer his rag has. I've seen the first dragon to rise, and the first dragon to fall, and once this hits the press, everyone will want to read about it. Now run, little man, as if all the dragons in Skyrim are bearing down on you!"

Continued in Dispatch 12 - Tears of a Clown.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 10 - The Way of Shouting

Continued from Dispatch 09 - The Road to High Hrothgar.

Elderly Nords in robes greeted me as I entered High Hrothgar. They want to test me to see if I really am a Dragonborn, and by their request I shouted "FUS" again, which does the trick. Their speaker, one Arngeir, explained that there were many Dragonborn before me. Whether I am the only one currently in existence, he could not say - I am the only one they have detected so far, and presumably finding more is difficult if they only stick to this mountain.

"FUS" is apparently a word in the language of dragons, and all Dragonborn allegedly have an innate gift for using such draconic "Words of Power" and channeling them into a "Shout". Each Shout contains up to three words, and using more of them will make the Shout more powerful. As I have seen on the walls of Markarth, all those many years ago...

One of Arngeir's colleagues, one Einarth, spoke the word "ROH", an extension of "FUS", and draconic letters form on the floor. I stared at them, and they shimmer and vanish from the floor while burning themselves into my mind. Apparently the Greybeards could somehow sense the latter, as Arngeir congratulated me on learning it so quickly.

Normal people have to constantly practice these Shouts to make use of them, while Dragonborn are able to tap into the absorbed knowledge of a slain dragon. Arngeir then explained that Einarth would allow me to "tap into his understanding of ROH". Then streams of light emerged from Einarth, similar to what I had seen emerging from the slain dragon, and my mind was filled with understanding.

Understanding of ROH, not of what in Oblivion had just happened. Had Einarth just transferred a part of his soul into mine? Unlike the dragon, he was still alive - but what had this transferal cost him?

As a further test, they conjured a few phantasms with their own Shouts and bade me to strike them with my new knowledge of FUS ROH, which seemed to be easy enough, but was sufficient to impress them.

We went outside, where another Greybeard, one Borry, taught me "WULD", or "Whirlwind", with the same method as Einarth. Using it caused the world to shift, as I passed quickly through a closing gate. I can foresee that closing distances quickly will turn out to be very useful...

With that, Arngeir turned to me and told me: "You are now ready for your last trial. Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav."

"Wait. These last two tests have been about learning and improving my use of the Voice, as you call it. The 'natural abilities' of a Dragonborn, if I understood you correctly."

"That's right."

"And now you are sending me off to some ancient tomb, likely filled with draugr, traps, and other dangers."

"Yes...?"

"What in Oblivion does that have to do with me being the Dragonborn?"

"It is a test to see how worthy you are of the title, like the heroes of old..."

"Do you even know what is going on out there? The dragons have returned, people are dying..." 

"We are aware, and surely this is not an accident that you have appeared at the same time. You should focus on honing your Voice, and soon your path will be made clear."

Keep your temper, Araneus. These people know things. Things that you need to know as well, and blowing up at them will not help.

He further warns me against the "arrogance of power" which other Dragonborn have succumbed to. But he tells me a few things, at least. Apparently, dragons also have this natural ability to "Shout", which comes to them as naturally as breathing. And back in the Mythic Age, the goddess Kynareth granted this ability to mortals - although not the ability to do it as easily as dragons. Except for the Dragonborn, who are allegedly granted this ability by Akatosh himself, and...

Then he let something very interesting indeed slip. When I asked them if the four elderly gentlemen were all of the Greybeards, he told me that there were five of them - their leader Paarthurnax lived on the mountaintop.

"Wait a moment. I saw the stone tablets on the way to here. Is this the same Paarthurnax who 'pitied Man' and taught Men how to use the Voice together with Kyne?"

Arngeir seemed to realize that he had said to much. "Uhm..."

"Does this Paarthurnax happen to have wings and breathe fire?"

"All will be revealed in time to you. You will be able to meet him when your Voice can open the path to him." And with that, this particular conversation seemed to be over.

I looked around the courtyard, and while there was a path leading further up the mountain, the need for "opening" it was fairly obvious - a raging storm seemed to cover it which would have surely swept me off the mountain, had I tried to pass through.

Very well. If that's what it took to get an interview with a dragon, I would go to this "Ustengrav" and get that damn horn.

We were halfway down when a dragon - the same as before? - ambushed us at a narrow ridge. It landed, and to my horror I watched as the impact from its landing knocked Lydia right off the mountainside! My other companions were likewise knocked away, but luckily in different directions and were only momentarily stunned. Then it attacked again and again, breathing ice as we peppered it with bolts and arrows and finally forced it down. We slew it on the very edge of the ridge it had pushed Lydia off, and it screamed and screamed as its scales and very soul boiled off before its lifeless bones finally fell down the mountain.

The nausea returned as the creature's life force poured into me, but this time I felt strangely okay about it.

Then we stared down the steep cliff. Even the normally chatty Vrija was silent.

"There is nothing more we can do here. You saw the arc in which she flew off. Nobody could have survived that. And we have avenged her death, as if that matters now. We must move on and get off this damn mountain before nightfall, before we all die of exposure."

Gorr and Jenassa understood - they were veteran warriors and too pragmatic to mourn a fallen comrade while our own lives were still at stake. Vrija looked like she was about to protest, after seeing my face thought better of it. And with that, we started the long walk down the mountain, lost in thought.

Continued in Dispatch 11 - Messages.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 09 - The Road to High Hrothgar

Continued from Dispatch 08 - Bandits Horribly Slaughtered by Well-Armed Travelers.

Now, whatever you can say about the roads of Cyrodiil, they are relatively safe. Why, you can only expect to be held up by armed bandits once or twice during any given journey! In Skyrim, you do not only have the bandits, but also skirmishes between Stormcloak rebels and some kind of necromancer coven, strange people spitting jets of poison from their mouths, trolls, more necromancers, and, of course, dragons - although this one at least did not spot us this time. And all that before we even reached Ivarstead!

But not all roadside encounters were people or things out to kill us. Sometimes, the people or things had been out to kill someone else first and then vanished into the thin underground, only leaving the grisly remains of their kills behind. Such was the case when we left the main road and started to climb up a small path to Ivarstead - we found two corpses attired in the bizarre garb of the Forsworn, still familiar after all those years.

Forsworn, for those of my readers who are unfamiliar with the history of western Skyrim, see themselves as rebels against Nord oppression of their native homeland - the Reach. A generation ago, they actually managed to overthrow the Nords for a time before... but I digress. From what I've heard, they have become more and more desperate and brutal since then - but finding them this far east, this far away from the Reach was certainly unusual enough to merit my attention.


There was a cave nearby, where bloody skulls had been impaled to scare away intruders, but of course that didn't stop brave investigators of the Truth like us. Inside we saw two bandits fighting with... a werewolf? What was a werewolf doing here? Had it come with the Forsworn? And if so, are the Forsworn now deliberately recruiting werewolves for their ranks?

Sadly, when we investigated the rest of the cave system no answers were forthcoming. Apparently the bandits had discovered an old, hidden fortress, and made their home there. They had also started to cage various animals, although only a sabre cat was still alive when we reached the cages. But there were no hints about their actual goals, or what their connection to werewolves or the Forsworn was.

As night fell, we finally reached Ivarstead, which was currently under attack - first by a trio of crazed mages and then a frenzied bear charged into town as well (frenzied by an illusion spell?). The locals seemed to need little help in putting them down, however - Nords are a tough breed, but I guess they have to be.

We holed up in Vilemyr inn for the night, and I asked the locals about the path to High Hrothgar. One Klimmek allegedly went up on it on a regular basis, but he wasn't at the inn - I would have to hunt him down the next morning. The inn's proprietor also warned me about the "haunted barrow" overlooking the town, claiming to have seen a spectre with his own eyes. But after Bleak Falls Barrows I feel no need to delve into another one.

21st of Last Seed, 4E 201.

Klimmek was up early. As it turned out, he had never been in High Hrothgar itself, only leaving supplies outside it. He did not even get paid for this service, believing that this would be "wrong" to demand payment from the Greybeards. Allegedly they could kill with a single word, which may have been part of the reasons for his reluctance, although he really did seem to hold them in reverence. Since I was heading there anyway, I promised to bring his food supplies there for him. He said he never encountered anything more dangerous than some wolves, but told me to watch out for slippery ice.

As we ascended the path, we spotted stone tablets with inscriptions along it:

I: "Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus; Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs; For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land."

A giant spider ambushed us.

II: "Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus; The Dragons presided over the crawling masses; Men were weak then, and had no Voice."

Wolves this time, with white fur adapted to the colder climate at these heights.

III: "The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times; Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices; But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts."

Ah. Another reference to the Dragon War. The plot thickens.

IV: "Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice; Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue."

Another dragon appeared from the south. A strange woman warrior clad in skimpy pink armor who had been meditating on the fourth tablet charged it and disappeared behind a ridge. The rest of us used this distraction to move on, but we ran into a white-furred troll in a small canyon.

V: "Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving for all that their Voice too was strong; Although their sacrifices were many-fold."

Who was Paarthurnax? Who was Alduin? And how did they "shout him out of the world"?

VI: "With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World."

The snow began to fall in earnest.

VII: "The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled; Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation; To understand how Strong Voices could fail."

Red Mountain... wasn't there a major battle involving a Nord invasion? I will have to read that up.

VIII: "Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The 17 disputants could not shout Him down; Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World."

Logically, this home would be High Hrothgar.

IX: "For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar; They blessed and named him Dovahkiin."

That's the word that both the dragon said and the Greybeards shouted from the mountain. Dovahkiin =  Dragonborn?

X: "The Voice is worship; Follow the Inner path; Speak only in True Need."

Now High Hrothgar was directly in front of me. I was cold, I was miserable, and I was desperate in need of answers. Hopefully, these Greybeards will have some for me.

Continued in Dispatch 10 - The Way of Shouting.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 08 - Bandits Horribly Slaughtered by Well-Armed Travelers

Continued from Dispatch 07 - Dragon Rising.

Whatever else can be said about devouring the soul of a dragon, it is highly invigorating - I don't feel the least bit tired, despite missing a full night of sleep. I head out of Dragonsreach, and...

...there is another dragon - this time attacking the city itself! Both my companions and I pepper it with arrows, and the guards join in as it makes one pass after another over the plaza before the local temple of Kynareth, freezing the air with great cones of ice. Even when grievously wounded, it doesn't retreat - do these things know no fear? Finally, it collapses on top of the city ramparts, and again I feel this unholy rush of both power and nausea as its very soul pours into mine. No new insights into the Voice, though.

This time, I take some leftover bones and scales as souvenirs, but plenty remain. I expect that dragon bones will become popular with many people across Tamriel - enchanters, alchemists, even some demented armorsmiths - and that there will be no shortage of fake dragon bones made from cattle and the like.

After I wandered through town and sold some of my loot from the Barrows as well as aquired some new spells and gear (it turned out that the proprietor of the Drunken Huntsman had somehow acquired a large collection of dwarven crossbow bolts!), I started to think about my mission. While I now had plenty of brawn at my disposal, what I really needed as well was an assistant - someone with observation skills, someone with investigative drive, someone with brains. While I had only known Jenassa, Gorr, and Lydia for a short time and I didn't think they were precisely stupid (other than the fact that they were following someone around who almost seemed to attract dragons), they didn't seem to have all that many interests beyond combat.

For some reason, most of the brighter locals seemed unwilling to accompany a stranger investigating the Mystery of the Dragons. But in the Bannered Mare, I found a young Nord woman named Vilja (sporting an accent odd even for Skyrim) who was doing an investigation of her own - she was on the search for two people who had stolen some kind of bottle from her. I assured her that I was an excellent investigator and that while normally mere thefts were beneath my notice, I was willing to make an exception for her.

As it happened, they hadn't really bothered to hide their trail, and we caught up with them in front of  the Honeybrew Meadery, a bit outside of the city. They were arguing about how the bottle allegedly "talked to them" and "cursed" them. I know how it is - bottles talk to me all the time, usually saying things like "drink me!". Of course, a surprising amount of these bottles had also been cursed - poisoned, really - by my many enemies.

They were only too happy to hand the bottle over. Just as they were doing so, another dragon appeared - how many of these things are out there? This one was smarter - it just did a quick flyover and breathed fire into our general direction before vanishing into the direction of the Throat of the World.

Vilja thanked me, and then asked me if we had met before. While I took this as a blatant ploy, there is always a chance that we had met, and I had forgotten about it - thanks to the influences of these cursed bottles, again.

She believed that her bottle was not really cursed, though. It was left to her by her grandmother and allegedly contained some ancient magic of Morrowind - and that a place called the "Eldergleam Sanctuary" supposedly had the key to unlocking it. I agreed to help her search for this place, which means that she will tag along with our merry group. And it turns out she has some alchemical training as well, so she probably has the smarts for the assistant job.

Perfect.

According to my maps, the shortest route to High Hrothgar led around the north side of the mountain, along the White River, before we had to climb up to the town of Ivarstead - the start of the "7,000 steps" pilgrimage the Jarl mentioned. Unfortunately, we were off to a bad start, as the heavy rain and the cloudy night sky conspired to make our surroundings pitch black - and then we stumbled across a skirmish between guards of Whiterun and some bandits. Only with difficulty did we manage to disentangle us from the combatants and move on.

Then Vilja started to chat with Lydia, and it began to sound as if she was interested in recruiting her for some dungeon crawling of her own. That was not a train of thought I wanted to encourage - Lydia is my bodyguard, assigned to me by the Jarl of Whiterun. Before I could intervene, however, we came across an old fortress spanning the river - and a bandit stopped me and explained that this was a "toll road" - that I would have to pay 200 septims to go on.

I considered my options. There were very likely bandits hidden in that fortress, taking aims with bows even now. But behind me, Gorr was sniggering, Lydia was grinning, and Jenessa was taking her pre-combat stance. And I didn't have 200 septims - those dwarven crossbow bolts were expensive.

"Listen very carefully. I am Araneus Venator, writer for the Black Horse Courier. Unless you want the news to be 'Bandits Horribly Slaughtered by Well-Armed Travelers', I suggest you let us pass immediately. And not make any sudden moves, that kind of thing."

"Hah! Tough talk for someone who is about to have their guts spilled!"

With that, she drew her sword, and the carnage unfolded. Under a blood red Masser emerging from the clouds, which I thought was a nice touch. First we brought down the predictable archer who hadn't quite grasped the concept of staying in cover. Then we had a running battle across the ancient stone bridge spanning the river, all the while taking fire from snipers on the other side. After I had put down of them, I decided that this was enough for the night - I was cold, I was tired, and we were unlikely to find another place with beds any time soon, lice-riddled as they were. So we made camp within the northern tower.

20th of Last Seed, 4E 201.

Unfortunately, I was still cold the next morning - I really should have built a decent fire and dried myself up before going to bed. Stupid young beginner's mistake, which I really shouldn't have made... But just as I had gathered firewood and got a nice fire burning, we spotted another group of bandits arriving at the south tower next to the road, presumably a raiding party that had returned after a long night. Once again my bodyguards set upon them with glee, while I attempted to hit a few of them with the crossbow held in my shivering fingers.

We took what we needed from their corpses. I lucked out - one of the bandits had some skeever dust with her. I hadn't managed to find any suppliers around here, given that I was preoccupied with other concerns.

Finally, we moved on. I hope that Whiterun will send some guards to occupy this place, or else bandits will likely camp here again within the week. But with the Civil War raging on, fewer and fewer guards are available to keep the roads safe, even in such a strategic location as this one...

Continued in Dispatch 09 - The Road to High Hrothgar.

[Skyrim] Black Horse Dispatches 07 - Dragon Rising

Continued from Dispatch 06 - Bleak Falls Barrow.

19th of Last Seed, 4E 201.

You'd think that Skyrim is empty of people when you get off the roads, but you'd be wrong. First we spotted a lone bard fighting off some bandits, and then we encountered a very peculiar Khajiit clad in a robe who introduced himself by the name of M'aiq and dispensed gems of wisdom like: "M'aiq can travel fast across the land. Some lazy types take carriages. It is all the same to M'aiq" or "M'aiq once walked to High Hrothgar. So many steps, he lost count." Than he walked away without even giving me some of the skooma he was obviously on. Some people!

After getting my reward for the retrieval of the golden dragon claw from the Riverwood trader, we headed back to Whiterun. And again, we were not the only people in the area - a few revelers were returning from a very long pub crawl.

Arriving at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace, I caught Farengar talking to a hooded woman, presumably his "reliable source". I couldn't see her face clearly, but her voice seemed familiar... Farengar was talking about some old text he and unearthed, and how he could use it to "cross-reference sites" - perhaps the dragon burial mounds? The woman referred to an "employer" who seemed to be "very anxious" to learn about the dragons... but that could be anyone from the Synod to the Penitus Oculatus to the Thalmor.

Then they spotted me, and Farengar let slip that his "associate" was the one who had discovered the location of the dragonstone, although she hadn't told him how.

Then Irileth, the Jarl's bodyguard, burst into my room and demanded that both Farengar and me should come with her - a dragon had been sighted nearby!

Farengar was rather more exited at the prospect of seeing a dragon than was seemly, while Irileth was more worried about whether her forces could repel such a creature - and after Helgen, I was feeling rather skeptical myself. Irileth and the Jarl interrogated a guard who had ran from the "Western Watchtower", where it was apparently still circling.

The Jarl ordered Irileth to go there with some men. Then he asked me to come with them and help them fight this dragon, since I had more "experience" with dragons than anyone else in the city.

After Helgen, there is nothing I'd like to do less. And yet, what choice do I have?

The News must be told.

As a reward for my past services, the Jarl gives me an enchanted shield (sadly, too heavy for my tastes) and tells me that I am now allowed to purchase property in the city - with the qualifier "...if you survive this" remaining unspoken.

Irileth is a good military leader, I'll grant her that. This is clearly a suicide mission, and her men realize that, expressing dismay at fighting such a lethal foe. But with a short speech she grips them by their Nordic souls' metaphysical testicles and fills them with visions of being the first Nords to kill a dragon in the modern age, instead of merely being one of the first to become a dragon's lunch in the modern age.

The watchtower was burning.

Survivors at its base were warning us off. Then it came, from the mountains to the south. A different one - not black and full of spikes, but a light green and smooth scales. It landed and breathed fire, and we peppered it with arrows and bolts in return. Then it took flight again, presumably to find a better vantage point from which to breath fire on us puny insects.

Then it went down. By the Divines, it went down! It struggled to get into the air again, but its wings had suffered too many pinpricks and could no longer support its weight. We kept our distance and continued our barrage. As it collapsed, it let out some final words. "Dovakin? No!"

Then it began to glow. Its scales began to dissolve and turn into motes of light - which rushed into me. A sense of overwhelming power filled me, and echoes of ancient knowledge not my own whispered through my mind.

Then I realized what had happened. Those ancient Nordic heroes from the "Book of the Dragonborn" hadn't merely absorbed some kind of power from defeated dragons - they had devoured their very souls, like some of the blackest necromancers are reputed to do with human souls. And, by the Divines, I had somehow done the same!

The guards were rather excited by this new development, and had heard of those legends as well. One of them told me that the Dragonborn of old could "Shout" without training. Then they started to argue about the folklore surrounding those old heroes. I was still too stunned to join in the debate, but I remembered that rune wall in Bleak Falls Barrows, and something stirred in my memories... no, not my own memory. Suddenly, I realized what one of the words on the wall meant. I opened my mouth...

"FUS!"

And in a wide cone in front of me, some kind of force pushed the guards back and whirled the soil into the air.

I knew that words had power. I mean, I always knew it - but this?

This was too much. I headed back to the city - as always, the News must be told, in this case to the Jarl, who would be relieved to hear that the dragon was slain. After that, I needed a stiff drink - or a dozen.

But when I approached the gates, the ground shook. Then eerie voices said a word - "Dovakin", like the dragon had cried. I was too rattled to be sure, but they seemed to come from a high mountain nearby - the Throat of the World itself, if I wasn't mistaken.

Just inside, I witnessed the guards kicking out two Redguard warriors, still in the garb of their homeland. One of them approached me and claimed to pay good money for information on the whereabouts of a "middle-aged Redguard woman", but refused to elaborate on what they wanted with her. I smell a story... but this will have to wait.

As it turned out, the Jarl was also versed in those old Norse legends, and after my update explained that the cry from the mountain had been a summons from the "Greybeards", who probably wanted to meet me because I was Dragonborn - because I was able to absorb power from dragons and use these "shouts", or "thu'um" like dragons do. His brother elaborated that the last person to be summoned like this was Tiber Septim, when he was still Talos of Atmora.

...perfect. All I wanted - or rather, what my editor wanted - was to do some nice, quiet investigation of the Skyrim Civil War. And such an investigation would have been much easier if I had been able to keep a low profile. But now... the way the guards talked, this will probably be the talk of all of Skyrim within the week, and of the Imperial City the week after that (although the latter would undoubtedly be distracted by more important matters, like who in the Imperial dynasty was sleeping with whom).

But still, these Greybeards sound like they might have important information - if they know about these "dragon shouts", they might know more about the dragons themselves. So it took very little prompting from the Jarl to decide to make the "pilgrimage along the 7,000 steps" up to High Hrothgar.

Then he made me a thane of his city - for my Cyrodiilic readers, think "high-ranking flunky/courtier of the local baron". Which meant that even if I wanted to stay out of the local politics, I would still be seen by others as part of the system. More headaches, although it might open up some new doors for my investigation... On the upside, he appointed a "housecarl" (think: bodyguard) to serve me - a muscular Nord woman named Lydia. Which means that I now have three bodyguards, which makes me feel a lot safer already, unless they decide to gang up on me (which has happened before...).

Continued in Dispatch 08 - Bandits Horribly Slaughtered by Well-Armed Travelers.